color。　It　occurred　to　me　that　Brutus　Howell　was　a　kind　of　saint。　〃You　gonna　be　a　circus　mouse　after　all；　Mr。　Jingles！　Gonna　live　in　a　mouse　city　down　Florida！　All　ivy…glass　windows！　Hurrah！〃

He　threw　the　spool　extra…hard。　It　hit　low　on　the　wall；　took　a　crazy　bounce；　and　squirted　out　between　the　bars　of　his　cell　door　and　onto　the　Mile。　Mr。　Jingles　raced　out　after　it；　and　Percy　saw　his　chance。

〃No；　you　fool！〃　Brutal　yelled；　but　Percy　paid　no　attention。　Just　as　Mr。　Jingles　reached　the　spool　…　too　intent　on　it　to　realize　his　old　enemy　was　at　hand　…　Percy　brought　the　sole　of　one　hard　black　workshoe　down　on　it。　There　was　an　audible　snap　as　Mr。　Jingles's　back　broke；　and　blood　gushed　from　his　mouth。　His　tiny　dark　eyes　bulged　in　their　sockets；　and　in　them　I　read　an　expression　of　surprised　agony　that　was　all　too　human。

Delacroix　screamed　with　horror　and　grief。　He　threw　himself　at　the　door　of　his　cell　and　thrust　his　arms　out　between　the　bars；　reaching　as　far　as　he　could；　crying　the　mouse's　name　over　and　over。

Percy　turned　toward　him；　smiling。　Toward　the　three　of　us。　〃There；〃　he　said。　〃I　knew　I'd　get　him；　sooner　or　later。　Just　a　matter　of　time；　really。〃　He　turned　and　walked　back　up　the　Green　Mile；　not　hurrying；　leaving　Mr。　Jingles　lying　on　the　linoleum　in　a　spreading　pool　of　his　own　blood。

Part　Four：

The　Bad　Death　of　Eduard　Delacroix

1。

All　this　other　writing　aside；　I've　kept　a　little　diary　since　I　took　up　residence　at　Georgia　Pines